


Knock 'er Down Some

by nosferaju



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Brain Needling...but with good purpose, F/F, Internalized Classicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosferaju/pseuds/nosferaju
Summary: Sera is a smart cookie.





	Knock 'er Down Some

Scout Wallic just recounted the story of his failed conquest with a particularly buxom Chantry Sister. The beer in Sera’s mug sloshed about, never spilling onto the table as she full-body laughed with the others. People openly admired Sera’s precision in her movements, only stepping on someone’s toes when she meant to. It wasn’t a learned skill, she was just Sera.

A shadow cast over the ruckus and stretched nearly seven feet tall. The group looked over the interloper in unison, their laughter sobered.

One man cleared his throat, “Inquisitor.”

She stood not quite seven feet, but perhaps a head and a half taller than Cullen (some Inquisition soldiers joked about such a Cullen with a battering-ram for a head paired with his fur making for great 'flock' camouflage). The way her body was tensed made her shoulders rise giving the appearance she maybe could reach two heads if she went full rigor mortis. One soldier noted her clenched fists and swallowed.

She spoke, “Sera. May I have a word?”

Sera’s mouth hung open, her jaw a little askew. Some might say in challenge.

“I got two words lined up, actually.” She took a swig of her beer.

Adaar looked like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. She instead looked at Sera’s compatriots, Adaar’s rank and file, with an order for sympathy. They stood, backs upright, ale in hand and scooted their way past their Inquisitor trying not to make a mess of themselves.

Adaar scooted into the booth so she sat across from Sera. Adaar kept her hands on her lap. She twisted her mouth as she watched Sera take incessant sips and flit her eyes around the tavern, intent on avoiding eye-contact. Adaar tilted her head and cleared her throat.

“Sera!”

Sera glanced in her direction, nose-first in her mug.

“I’m under the impression you don’t very much like me.” Adaar said, then lifted her chin. Some might say in challenge. Sera wouldn’t, she’d say in snooty.

Sera feigned a gasp, “ _I_ impressed _you_! Well, sound the horns, Lady Inquisitor, and make way for the parade!”

Adaar drew her eyebrows inward and frowned, “What does that mean?”

“Nothin’!”

Adaar slammed her palms on the table. The past few weeks have grown particularly tempestuous. Passive-aggression between bouts of aggressive-aggression leading to a kicked over cooking pot at camp and the silent treatment lasting until Adaar had risen to the occasion, she believed, and asked for ‘a word’. Sera’s shock moved fast to anger and Adaar feared a repeat of the cooking pot disaster, eyeing Sera’s beer. 

“Stop wonderin’ what your problem is with me! Start askin’ what your problem is with you!”

“I...don’t have a problem with you.” Adaar shook her head, eyes still on the beer, “Or me.”

Adaar’s voice was quiet. She didn’t anticipate or like this kind of confrontation. She knew how she’d sometimes speak to Sera with derision and how it would eat at little parts of her that she couldn’t shove the words back in her mouth.

Sera slid her mug across the table. Adaar looked up from her lap at it, then at Sera.

Sera lifted her chin. Adaar pouted at the mockery and reached for the handle of the mug. She held Sera’s gaze as she took a single gulp, then wiped her mouth with the tips of her fingers, placing the mug back on the table.

Sera pursed her lips. “Like I thought.”

Despite Adaar’s height, her eyes were upturned towards Sera. Sera leaned back, crossing her arms. “Anytime you drink the good stuff you make this face, like you stepped his nug shite. But _that_. That you loved.”

“No.” Adaar mumbled. “I'm just used to it, is all.”

“Can’t hear you! Speak up!”

Adaar shut her eyes. She wished steam would blow out her nose cautioning Sera to back off. Getting to know Sera these past few weeks, however, would prove Sera loved ignoring warning signs, and loved defacing them more.

Adaar opened her eyes, and stood. She took the rim of the mug in her hand and chugged the rest.

Adaar sat back down and crossed her arms, mirroring Sera. She spoke, “I should’ve poured it on your head. Like you did with the soup.” Adaar scowled, “All over my supplies.”

Sera huffed, “Ugh! I didn’t mean to do that!” Adaar scoffed.

“You get so stuffy! Anytime I talk about...anything! You hate what I am, but I'd betwiddle Inquisitor grew up on puke-y floors and clothes ratty as she was tall.”

Adaar leaned in, her voice hushed, “And I don’t delight in it!”

Sera leaned in as well, “No, you just delight in what fancy ponces think of you!”

Adaar breathed hard through her nose, again hoping for steam, something to push Sera back while she thought her way out of that declaration.

“Those fancy ponces are paying for your beer, and those arrows in your quiver. They’re the reason a Tal-, someone like me, has a throne to sit on.”

Sera kept her gaze, but her face softened. Adaar felt tired, and Sera must’ve been too. In unison, they finally leaned back. Sera looked at Adaar’s right hand.

“Heard of leverage?” Sera asked. Adaar squinted. “They care what you think, too,” Sera leaned across the table and took Adaar’s afflicted hand, “You’ve got already got the power, and no matter how much bigger your horn dealies get, it’s _them_ pleasin’ _you_.”

Adaar’s mouth hung open watching her hand under Sera’s, like a sudden realization fell upon her, she flinched. Sera felt it and slid it back, leaving enough touch for touch to linger.

“Josie’d beg to differ.” Sera said, quietly, eyeing her.

“Josephine,” Adaar started, “is a fancy ponce.” Adaar looked up, blushing. Sera smiled, toothy, and Adaar peaked a grin back before looking at the empty mug’s woodwork and running her hand across her right horn. “And I think my horns have reached their full potential.” She’d never called them hers before, or in truth acknowledged them as anything but those things that'd catch a low-hanging chandelier. She smiled to herself, wondering how she managed that.

“Next round on the fancy ponces, hey?” Sera said. Her eyes, Adaar finally noticed, bore right through her, past her rib-cage and burrowed someplace soft and pliant.

Adaar blushed again, still smiling.

When their beers came, Sera lifted her mug, “To Lampchop’s leverage!”

“What? Am I Lampchop?”

Sera laughed hard, mug full and not a drop spilled.


End file.
